


Secret Keepers

by jg291



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Auror Harry, Fluff, HP: EWE, M/M, Unspeakable Draco
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-23
Updated: 2015-02-23
Packaged: 2018-03-14 18:01:28
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,856
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3420299
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jg291/pseuds/jg291
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Halfway through Ministry training, the Aurors and Unspeakables host a friendly competition. Trainees from one department are paired with a trainee from the other department and given a simple task. The Unspeakable-to-be keeps a secret, and the Auror has 24 hours to find it out. Harry, because of course he is, is matched with Draco Malfoy, his former enemy who he might have, kind of, sort of fallen in love with during their final, extra year at Hogwarts. Not that Draco can ever know this, of course, but spending 24 hours straight with him might make things a little difficult for Harry.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Secret Keepers

Each spring, the Auror Department and the Department of Mysteries host a friendly competition. The rules are simple. Each Auror-in-training is paired with an Unspeakable-to-be. The Unspeakable will write down a fact of his or her choosing and place it in a sealed envelope. It can be a random factoid, a detail about the Unspeakable job, or a personal secret. The Auror trainee has 24 hours to try to get the secret out of the Unspeakable.

The Auror can use any means at his disposal, besides an Unforgiveable or another spell that would cause the Unspeakable physical pain beyond a minor, temporary injury. Some Aurors try locking their Unspeakables up without food and only a little bit of water; others use Muggle techniques like sleep deprivation. Of course, 24 hours isn’t quite enough time for these techniques to work, so the smarter Aurors refer to other methods – mere annoyance, charm, riddles.

Harry thinks he can win. He’s always been just awkward enough to get people to lose their place in the conversation, to get them to talk about what Harry wants and believe it was what they wanted to talk about, all along. It’s only been two years since the war ended, and people still want to please Harry. Maybe he can work that to his advantage.

And then, he gets paired with Malfoy, because of course he does, and all of his plans to charm the secret out of his partner go right out the window. Actually, all of his plans to do _anything_ go right out the window, because Harry’s never exactly been levelheaded where Draco Malfoy is concerned.

***

They’re not enemies, not anymore, but Harry certainly wouldn’t call Malfoy a friend. They forged a careful truce when back at Hogwarts for an eighth year (not that either Harry or Malfoy were there for any of the seventh), because less than half their year came back and McGonagall threw them all in one dormitory.

Malfoy came back so withdrawn, even Zabini sought the company of the Hufflepuffs rather than spend time with him. Harry simply found it sad. Malfoy pretty much only talked to Goyle, and a smile was never found on his face, not even the ever-present smirk of their early years that Harry had learned to hate (and, well, not hate). Harry knew Malfoy wasn’t a bad person, not really. All of his bad choices were thrust upon him from a young age. And now he and Harry owed each other a life debt, and there was something to say for that. Harry found himself frustrated that Malfoy never seemed happy and set himself on a mission to coax Draco Malfoy out of his shell.

(The war was over, okay? He needed a new purpose in life.)

Ginny broke up with him over it. “Not because you want to help him, Harry, of course, that’s admirable. It’s just, it’s all you’ve been talking about. It’s like it’s two years ago when you stalked his every move, trying to catch him in the act. And now it is the same thing, only you’re trying to find him to cheer him up. It doesn’t even make sense!”

He tried to fight back, but he knew she was right. Draco Malfoy had captivated Harry since the day Harry turned down Malfoy’s offer of friendship, one way or another, and Harry decided just go to with it.

After months of prodding, his plan worked. By Christmas, Malfoy didn’t flinch every time he entered a room Harry was in (though there was that really awkward month at the beginning that Harry wishes never to speak of again.) By February, Zabini was back to wanting to hang out with him again. By March, Malfoy had even made a good friend in Terry Boot and would occasionally venture over to the Ravenclaw table for meals. By April, he actually smiled.

By May, Harry realized that he was completely in love with Draco Malfoy, the boy who faced his own hell and appeared to come out almost completely unscathed the way Harry didn’t think he ever could.

By June, Harry realized how incredibly fucked he was. How inconvenient to fall in love with someone who just barely tolerated his presence, even if Malfoy was happy again. When Harry left Hogwarts, he hoped his crush would fall by the wayside and just disappear over time.

***

It didn’t. Malfoy wasn’t out of Harry’s life, not really. They never hung out, but they would occasionally run into each other at the Ministry. They had coffee once, in April, when Boot, Malfoy’s Unspeakable training partner, was out on holiday and Malfoy seemed so dismayed about being alone that he didn’t even complain when Harry sat down at his table uninvited. It was the most fun Harry had in the year since graduating. Nothing was more exciting to Harry than their verbal sparring. Malfoy was basically one of the three people in the world who didn’t hero worship Harry on some level or the other, and while Harry loved Ron and Hermione with all his heart, he had to have some outlet for their sickly sweet flirting.

Harry had spent the last two months trying to work up the courage to go through with his plan to spend time with Draco – no, Malfoy, not Draco – again but his Gryffindor roots failed him for the first time ever.

Face a Dark Lord, the evilest wizard to ever live? No problem. Want to spend time with your crush? Now that’s scary.

But it appears the universe is on his side – or horrifyingly against him. It could go either way.

At the beginning of the exercise, the Aurors are informed that the Unspeakables wrote their secrets and sealed them in an envelope before partners were assigned.

When the Auror in charge declares that 24 hours have begun, Malfoy turns to Harry. “Shall we get on with this, then, Potter? You’re not going to get my secret out of me.”

He smirks, and it’s exactly the look Harry has been missing since their coffee da---- meetup. Hopefully Harry can get through the day.

But he holds out his arm for Draco – Malfoy – to grab. Malfoy glances at Harry, and it’s clear he’s confused. Harry clarifies. “Apparate with me, you idiot. I have the next 24 hours to do whatever I want with you.”

As they travel from the Ministry to the Muggle hotel lobby where Harry’s rented out a nice multi-room suite for in preparation of the challenge, Harry hears Draco laughing uproariously. Harry grimaces at his phrasing, but he can’t help but smile a little bit. It’s not a mean laugh, but rather, a genuine one.

Harry wouldn’t mind hearing that laugh forever.

***

“You know, Potter,” Draco – damnit, Malfoy! – drawls upon discovering their location, “if you wanted to get me back to your bedroom, you didn’t have to go through the trouble of getting us a hotel. I’m sure your place would be sufficient.”

Oh Merlin. Harry can feel his face turning as red as his Gryffindor tie and he tries to sputter out that he just wanted somewhere comfortable because 24 hours is a long time and had he known it would be Malfoy he was dealing with he absolutely would _not_ have gone through the trouble.

The smirk never leaves Malfoy’s face. It somehow stays in place when Draco starts talking in his serious, getting-down-to-business tone: “Seriously, though, why did you bring us here?”

Here being a one bedroom suite complete with a living room, master bathroom, and kitchen area. The kitchen area may contain a spectacular refrigerator that he’s heard Hermione describe as a “minibar,” complete with Muggle alcohol that is definitely sufficient for his plan. And why a Muggle hotel? Harry knew that all the Unspeakable candidates grew up in the wizarding world, and he hoped the lack of magic and presence of electricity and other technology would throw his opponents off.  But Malfoy doesn’t need to know that.

Harry suggests they sit down and make themselves comfortable; after all, it’s going to be a long night. Malfoy complies by taking off his work robes, and Harry’s shocked by what he has on under there. Muggle jeans – tight ones – and a green t-shirt that fits perfectly and shows off his toned muscles.

But what Harry can’t keep his eyes away from is Draco’s left arm. Instead of that ugly inky skull and crossbones he saw that night on the Astronomy Tower three years ago, it’s an explosion of color. The Mark is still there, yes, but it’s blended in perfectly with designs running up and down his arm, a sleeve of tattoos of sorts.

“Like what you see?” Malfoy drawls again, the grin making its way to his eyes.

“Clever, um, there, the way you hid it without actually, um, getting rid of it,” Harry stammers, clearly struggling to get the words out.

The idiot laughs again. Then he rakes his eyes up and down Harry’s body. “Don’t you want to make yourself comfortable, too? We’re in for a long night, as you say.”

Ughhhhh. Harry can’t stand this. This is going to be one long night, for sure. It’s almost as if he’s the one with the secret, and Draco’s going to be prying out Harry’s feelings all night long.

Phase One – pleasantries – doesn’t seem apt for these particular circumstances. It’s time for Phase Two – alcohol.

***

Once Harry’s out of his work robes, he stalks over to the minibar. He pulls out what he thinks is the finest whiskey and pours two glasses. He holds one out for Malfoy to grab.

“Potter, are you _that_ daft that that you would have forgotten you’re on assignment already?” Malfoy asks, scowling.

“Well, Malfoy, it appears we have about 23 hours and 45 minutes left for me to get your secret out, so we might as well, um, get comfortable.” Yes, Harry’s aware he said that already. He’s a little flustered, okay? Like, it’s not his fault Draco looks so goddamn attractive outside of his work robes. Harry knows he needs to keep himself on track though, so he attempts grab the upper hand back.

“Besides, Malfoy,” Harry drawls, using a tone he’s so familiar heard from the man standing before him, “afraid of a friendly drink between ex-enemies/current colleagues who have been posed as enemies once again for the next day?”

“I don’t think that’s how the saying is supposed to go, Potter. But sure, it’s not like one drink will scare me away.” Drac – Malf – oh fuck it - Draco grabs the glass from Harry’s hand, and if their fingers happen brush up against each other briefly, that’s not a spark Harry’s feeling, it’s just, well, it’s cold in here and the contact was a nice bit of warmth, okay?

“Yeah, Draco, I do remember a couple of eighth year parties where everyone got pretty wasted and yet not one person even ended up in the hospital wi – wait, you were _never_ drunk at those parties, were you?”

“Of course I was, Potter,” Draco retorts. “I played the games with all of you.”

“No. You didn’t. You might’ve hung with the group sometimes, but you mainly just stood leaning against the wall, watching, only participating when Terry or Blaise pulled you in.” Harry is sure of this. His eyes may have found their way to Draco way more than was healthy.

“Oh, Potter, I didn’t know you cared. But you would know this why?” Draco demands.

The best way to establish trust with an adversary is to make yourself a bit vulnerable. Not too vulnerable, so they figure out your weaknesses, but just vulnerable enough so that they feel comfortable dropping their guard a little bit. “Well, as we’ve established, I did develop quite the talent for stalking you, sixth year,” Harry admits sheepishly.

Draco looks triumphant. “I knew I wasn’t imagining that! I knew you were just lurking around the corner all the time. You must have gotten quite the workout wandering around the castle in your invisible cloak trying to track me down.”

“Actually, I was able to fi–“ Harry stops himself in his tracks. He’s the one supposed to be conducting an interrogation, not revealing all his secret tools to his adversary. Draco certainly doesn’t need to learn about the Marauders’ Map right now.

Draco just chuckles. “Finally remember I’m the one being interrogated here?"

Harry might feel the need to smile due to the fact that he and Draco had the same thought. He tries to hold it in.

He fails. The logical response is to take a swig of the Muggle whiskey, to give himself a moment to pull himself back together, to get serious again.

The drink goes down so, so smoothly. It’s amazing how different a drink can taste when it isn’t designed to scorch your insides. Harry never wants to drink Firewhiskey again. He has to share how good this is.

“Draco! You have to try this whiskey. It’s so wonderful.”

Draco looks up from where he was staring into space and glares at Harry with the oddest expression. It looks like a mixture of amusement, scorn, and confusion – only Draco Malfoy would be able to have all three of those expressions on his face at once.

“What’d I say? Why are you looking at me so weirdly?” Harry demands.

“You called me Draco – twice now, Potter,” Draco says in an odd, tight voice. “It’s almost like you’re starting to go soft on me.”

“Nope, I can be hard, don’t you worry.”

Oh, wait, dammit. Phrasing, Harry, phrasing.

That smirk again, though. Harry wouldn’t mind looking at it for a long while. Maybe he should “accidentally” make sexual innuendos for the first of the night. And nothing like making an intensely awkward moment go away by just making it awkward. That was clearly the right thing to say.

Draco does taste the whiskey, though, and hums in appreciation. It makes Harry feel excited, in a way that he hasn’t been since that coffee meet-up in April, hell, since he hasn’t been since Voldemort died. Draco puts him on edge in a way that no one else can, and he loves the feeling, the high.

He knows he’s going to crave Draco now, and 23.5 hours he has left with the Slytherin just aren’t going to be enough. Harry decides that losing the challenge isn’t the end of the world, and he needs to use this time to make Draco realize the time they’ve spent together was good, that they should do it again. Maybe even make him realize he should want Harry the way Harry desperately wants him.

**

However, it wouldn’t be good form to admit he was giving up the challenge, as Draco would certainly get suspicion. Harry decides to at least pretend to get back to business.

Well, Draco’s still sipping his whiskey contentedly. Maybe Harry should give Draco a moment to drink a little more of it, and to give himself time to get some more down as well. A little liquid courage certainly wouldn’t hurt the night, and Harry _knows_ Draco didn’t drink their eighth year. Maybe he just doesn’t drink very often, and Harry will be able to get the secret out without trying very had.

After a few moments, Harry calls Draco to attention. “So now that we’re thoroughly reacquainted, mind if I ask you a few questions?”

“One generally doesn’t start an interrogation by asking permission, Potter,” Draco responds. “But, sure, go ahead. You’re not going to get this out of me.”

Another technique: lay down the facts in a manner that makes it seem like you know what you’re doing (even if you don’t at all).

“So, here’s what I have, Draco,” and yes, Harry catches the weird expression that flickers overs Draco’s face when Harry uses his given name yet again. Harry likes unnerving him. But, it’s time for business, now, so he continues: “– they told us you could write down three types of statements. One: a random fact that doesn’t actually matter. Two: a fact about the job Unspeakables actually perform. Three: a personal secret. You’re confident in your abilities, but you’re not overconfident to the point of self-harm. Well, not anymore, anyway. You wouldn’t pick a fact from category #2 in case you did crack under pressure and let out the secret about your job, as that could get you in big trouble.

And then we have category #1, random facts. You could pick anything – the number of wizards in Indonesia, the first password they gave you when you joined Slytherin, the highest recorded score in a Quidditch match. Something random, and I would never guess it. But you wouldn’t do that, would you? There’s no fun in that. You’re not one to back away from a challenge – and how hard would it be for me to guess some random statistic? So hard the competition loses all edge.

So that leaves us with option #3, personal fact. That doesn’t seem like a great option, either. Even as the year came to a close, as you started joining us for Truth or Dare” – because clearly, after you’ve survived a war, silly drinking games are the way to go - “you _never_ chose Truth and instead subjected yourself to the silliest dares Padma or Hannah could come up with. Why? Because you don’t want to let anyone in, and you were afraid that someone would ask you a question about the war, alienate you just as you were starting to fit in, just as you were starting to be forgiven and make some friends. But this, this is different. One fact, entirely of your choosing, no one to make you answer a question you don’t want to answer. So, number # 3, personal fact, it is.”

Harry lets out a deep breath after finishing his speech, and notices Draco just staring at him again. Oh, Merlin. Harry certainly didn’t intend to say *that* much, to freak Draco out just after he started to get comfortable. He needed to break the ice again, immediately. As he scrambled for something else to say, though, Draco luckily speaks up.

“I’m pretty sure that’s the most you’ve ever said to me at once, Potter,” Draco comments, amused. “Think you’ve got me all figured out, yeah? You don’t. You’re not going to get this out of me.”

Oh. Oh. Challenge **on**. If there’s one thing Harry can’t stand, it’s losing to Draco Malfoy. Harry decides to test his theory about Draco’s lack of experience drinking alcohol harder than a glass of wine with dinner.

“You want to go shot for shot, Draco?”

“What?”

“Well, I hardly think we’re going to get through this day together sober. Think of how much more fun it’ll be if I pester you wasted.”

“Potter, that doesn’t even make sense.”

“It doesn’t, to you, maybe. But I’m going to start drinking my second glass of whiskey, and if you don’t want to keep up, that’s at least one realm of competition you’re surely losing tonight.”

Draco’s eyes alight with a fire that’s been probably missing since his dad first landed himself in Azkaban. He promptly grabs the whiskey to refill his glass and reaches for Harry’s to refill that, as well. He picks up the drink and the smirk comes back.

Well, this is going to be fun.

**

Three drinks in, Harry’s having a lot more fun than Draco is, he thinks. He built up quite the alcohol tolerance during those first few rough months after the war, when he had to play the hero, the perfect boyfriend, the guy who died and came back to life just to save everyone else. He couldn’t go out in public without being accosted by adoring fans, so he mostly stayed in with his Firewhiskey and his fights with Ginny that got more and more angry, and the more-than-occasional visit from Ron and Hermione, but even they stopped checking in regularly once Harry got too irritated that one time.

It was the invitation back to Hogwarts for an eighth year that saved him, got him out of the public eye. And yet, when he got back to Hogwarts, he still couldn’t go anywhere without getting stopped by a fan, a second year who survived the battle or a first year whose parents filled her head with the fact that she wouldn’t be going to Hogwarts at all if it weren’t for Harry Potter.

He couldn’t figure it out at the time, but Draco was the _only_ person who didn’t treat him differently, not even a little, who disdained him just as much as before. So of course Harry had to go and fall in love with Draco, the only person who didn’t really care for him.

Except… did he? Harry was starting to crack through Draco’s polished veneer (or, at least, Harry’s whiskey was) and Draco was letting loose, a little bit. Harry already learned that Draco did not typically drink whiskey (“oh shit, I shouldn’t have told you that, Potter, I _knew_ you were trying to get me drunk), that Draco was terrified that one time they dueled in second year (“I just wanted to hurt your face, Potter, saying that you weren’t scared and ‘ _I wished’_ and all that but I was kind of scared and I just wanted you to be too”), how happy he was when Ron was selected to be the Gryffindor prefect (“not that I like him, of course, but it least it wasn’t _you_ and so I finally got something you didn’t). Draco was being surprisingly candid. It was kind of hilarious and adorable. Adorable? Oh Merlin, Harry was fucked.

When Harry asked, though, if any of these were the secret he needed to get out, Draco clammed up. “No, Potter, as if I’m going to tell you _that_. Can I ask some questions now?”

“Sure, why not,” Harry said with a giggle. Sure, he wasn’t wasted like Draco was, but he would be lying if he claimed to be entirely sober. He had to be careful not to reveal anything _too_ personal, but if Draco felt like they were in a quid pro quo situation, maybe he’d be more inclined to let the secret out.

“Great!” Draco declared, a little too excitedly. “Why do you keep calling me Draco, Potter? It’s weird.”

“Draco Potter. That has a nice ring to it,” Harry mused.

“… the fuck, Potter?” Draco looks scandalized. It’s hot. Harry’s a little confused, though, why Draco is so confused, so he replays what he just said in his head.

Ohh. Oops.

Harry needs to change the subject. Fast. Umm, what were they just talking about? Oh, right. Names, right. Why Harry keeps calling Draco, Draco. Because he’s hopelessly in love with him? That answer probably won’t fly. But he has to get back on track.

“Names, you were asking? Why I call you Draco now? It’s not that hard, you should try it. Say it with me. Harry. Haaaa-reeeeee. Harry. See, first names aren’t that hard?”

“Ha-rry,” Draco repeats, slowly, like he’s testing the name out. He smiles, like a move to first names if something he might actually be okay with. “Okay, Harry, I think I can do that. But why?”

“Well, it seemed like we were starting to become friends that last year, before we graduated and got pulled into training and had no time to, well, do anything outside of work,” Harry answers, suddenly vulnerable. “Calling you by the name my idiotic 11-year-old self decided on didn’t really make sense anymore.”

“Yeah, your 11-year-old self was pretty idiotic, wasn’t he? I’ll drink to that!” Draco’s face lights up as he holds up his (mostly empty) glass. It’s beautiful.

Oh, Harry’s really smitten, but he grabs his glass as well and clinks it against Draco’s.

Draco cackles. “You just cheersed yourself being an idiot.”

Harry’s just glad that they moved on from that time when he pondered what Draco’s name would sound like if they got married. He feels pretty idiotic over that one, anyway, so no harm, no foul.

He finishes his drink, though, and watches Draco do the same. It seems like they’re just getting started.

***

Two drinks more, and Harry’d be willing to admit he was drunk if Draco asked. Not that Draco would ask, because he, too, is shitfaced. 

“Potter, Potter, Potter, should I tell you my secret?”

“It’s _Harry_ , Draco, we’ve been over this!” Harry admonishes. He’s not really mad, though. He could never be mad at Draco.

Well, not anymore, anyway.

“I think because you’re so unable to remember my name, you should tell me your secret.” Harry flashes his most charming grin, because of course then Draco will _have_ to tell him.

“Okay, you wanna know my secret, Harry?” Draco murmurs.

“Harry. Yes!”

“God, Potter, if you’re gonna get that excited if I call you Harry, I’m never going to again. But you wanna know the secret?”

“Yesssss,” Harry whines.

“Do you?” Draco teases.

“Yes, Draco, yes!”

“If this what you sound like when you’re drunk, _Harry_ , imagine how you’ll sound in bed.” Draco looks _so_ pleased with himself for thinking about that. Harry maybe wants to more than imagine that?

“Ha, Draco, you’re hilarious. But tell me the secret, please.”

“Okay, fiiine. If only all of your interrogations were this easy. Ready? Okay, here it is: I, Draco Malfoy, am in love with you, Harry Potter.”

Draco’s eyes, which have been locked into Harry’s own for the better part of an hour, abruptly glance to the ground. He tenses up and pulls back from where he was leaning toward Harry.

He’s joking, right? Some kind of sick joke only Draco Malfoy would pull on him, after figuring out that Harry had all these feelings and going along with it just to fuck Harry over later.

Harry feels sick. How was he so stupid? Fuck Draco Malfoy.

He runs out of the room to get away. He’s too drunk to deal with this shit right now, and losing the challenge doesn’t have any consequences other than embarrassment. He Apparates home without thinking and luckily doesn’t splinch himself. He’ll report to the Ministry at 3pm tomorrow and report that he lost.

***

He goes back to the Ministry as promised, after a terrible morning when it took him too long to find his Hangover cure. He runs into Ron who looks incredibly pleased when telling Harry that he got his secret out, but luckily, Ron knows Harry well enough by now not to push when Harry clearly doesn’t want to talk about it.

He sees Draco, there, too, but he’s in a conversation with Boot and refuses to look at Harry. Harry knows they’ll have to face each other during the debrief, which he is simply not looking forward to. Eventually, Kingsley calls them both in to his office.

“Well?” Kingsley asks. “How did it go?”

Harry looks up from where he’s been sheepishly staring at the ground. “I lost. I didn’t get the secret out and left when it came too hard to – “

Draco cuts him off, though. “Potter won, actually,” he states, sounding kind of despondent. “He got me to share the secret.”

Harry turns to Draco and looks at him for the first time all day. “What do you mean? I left. You didn’t tell me anything.”

Kingsley interrupts them both from continuing. “Let’s turn to the envelope then, shall we?”

He hands the sealed envelope to Harry, who proceeds to open it. It reads:

 **I, Draco Malfoy, am in love with Harry Potter**.

“Look, Harry, I didn’t mean to disgust you. I figured there was no way in hell they would actually pair me with you and I would _never_ tell that to anyone well, except, you when it looked like you might kind of feel the same way? But I see I misread the situation and we can just forget about it, yeah?”

Draco called him Harry. Harry can’t figure out why it means so much to him, but it does. He acts without thinking, how very Gryffindor of him, and pushes Draco against the wall to kiss him.

Draco doesn’t respond for a few tortuous moments, but all of a sudden, he starts to kiss back. It’s perfect, well, until Kingsley loudly clears his throat.

“It, um, seems like the two of you need to work yourselves out. But congratulations, Potter, for winning; I’ll be sure to let your supervisor know.”

When Kingsley leaves the room, Harry leans back in to continue kissing Draco, but Draco stops him before he gets too close.

“I thought I disgusted you?,” Draco asks in a small voice. “It appears I was wrong?”

“No, you idiot, of course I feel the same way. I thought you were kidding to make me feel like an arsehole.”

“The, um, same way?”

“Draco, let me make this clear. I, Harry Potter, am in love with Draco Malfoy. Good?”

When Draco leans back out toward Harry to continue kissing, it appears they are very, very good.

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first Drarry, or really any HP, fic ever. I would so appreciate comments if you have things I could work on or things you like or whatever.
> 
> Also, come find me at my tumblr (mangoapplepie.tumblr.com)! It was supposed to be a multi-fandom blog but Drarry has taken over my life lately, so it's pretty much just that.


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